Night
by Desepere Romantique
Summary: A classic story of forbidden love, a shy, repressed Delilah Eschweiler falls in love with her family's most hated enemy, a Veletta. They keep their relations hidden until Delilah's sister discovers their secret, and threatens to ruin everything
1. The End

**Been working on this one for a month...I think of it as much better than Candyland's Changing. **

**A little more...****eloquent. **

The moonlight filtered through the ancient oak trees, peeping through leaves and illuminating the roots and patchy grass that grew over the long since unused trail.

My legs trembled as I walked, and I wondered just how things had come to this. It was like a twisted fairytale that was sure to end horribly. This would never work, no matter how I wanted it to; it was disaster that would finish this.

It was never meant to be, John and I. Our numbers had expired when we first met, and any time now the worst would happen. I should have been the stronger person, the one that I was brought up to be, but I couldn't bring myself to rip my heart to shreds telling him. Every hour that passed until I finally pulled myself away would make it only that much harder- I knew that- but I selfishly clung onto both the best and worst thing that had ever happened to me.

The clearing appeared in front of my eyes, and I realized that I had been too distracted to notice where I was walking, but had unconsciously taken the right path at the fork. I stood at the edge of the trees, my heart racing with excitement.

The clearing was behind a decaying church in the graveyard, much to John's amusement, but I personally felt more than a little disturbed at the thought of decaying bodies under the ground below me.

Just one more difference that seemed to add up between our families I suppose.

The Eschweiler family and the Veletta family had once been close, as all pure lines were. Such close friends that nothing could separate them…but yet it had only seemed that way, for one thing tore them apart and began a feud that lasted hundreds of years.

Great Grandmother Beatrice fell in love with a mortal, and, knowing the disapproval of her own family that would await her should she tell, she confided in the Veletta family. They kept her secret as they promised, until the day that the mortal purposed to her.

The mortal knew not that Beatrice, as with the rest of our family, were immortal; knew not that immortals and mortals were not to wed; and knew not the doom that would await him when he asked for her hand.

He had not met my family, but hoped that they would approve and he and Beatrice would live happily ever after.

My Great-Great Grandfather became enraged upon knowing that his daughter had taken up with a mortal. He looked to the Veletta's for support, but they stood with the mortal, saying that nothing should get in the way of love. My Great-Great Grandfather realized that the Veletta's had known of this secret relationship all along and had not warned him of it, and his anger was further stoked.

He avowed that never again would the house of Eschweiler befriend a Veletta, and that vow had been upheld through the generations.

Until John and I met, that is.

I stepped into the clearing, my skin glowing ivory; a pale color that intensified in the moonlight. The churchyard's silence was softened only by a slight breeze that tickled the leaves in the archaic trees, letting them rustle and sigh in quiet contentment. The placid soughing was a sharp contrast to how I felt inside.

My hands twisted in my skirt as I felt anxiety mount even higher as the moments past by; my fingers ached from being drawn so tight, but I felt as if I let go of my skirt I would fall to pieces and shatter the peaceful quiet hush of the churchyard with agonized screams.

I clenched my jaw and focused on the graveyard as it was now; a beautiful respite where the madness sort of…mellowed out. I waned to remember it as it was now, in the calm before the storm.

So I could remember how I felt before I couldn't think of him without my heart aching.

It might have already been too late for the ache. My insides quivered like a bow before the arrow is shot, and I wearily wondered why I let this go on for so long...but I already knew the answer.

John was everything that I wasn't…bold, daring, carefree… so different than the ramrod straight upbringing of my family. He was my beacon of light, the firecracker that lit up my world. He was the addiction that kept me coming back for more, night after night.

He was a taste of the freedom I wished I had.

I sat down on a cold concrete bench and covered my face with my hands. The pattern work around the edge of the bench bit into the back of my knees. I tried to focus on what I would say; but memories that I wished vehemently would stay buried in the back of my mind swam to the front, demanding precedence.

All of the jokes, and laughter, the serious moments that were shared, the quiet times where we would lie back and watch the heavens, and those blushes that make this hurt all the fiercer.

"Delilah?"

I jumped up, my hands entangling themselves in my skirt once more, the soft cotton feeling foreign to my clammy fingers.

"John…" I smiled, the anxiety clawing my insides like a mad cat.

"What's wrong?" He asked immediately, coming over to me from the shadows.

His olive complexion was luminous in the moonlight, and his dark hair seemed to gleam. His face was beautiful beyond any normal human, indescribable in a way that only immortals can be. His straight nose and high cheekbones, his lips and his jaw line - every part of John's face I loved…everything about him, really…

Except for the way he looked at me now. His perfect brow furrowed and beautiful brown eyes concerned. I had to look away.

I settled for watching my hands try to rip out the seams of my skirt.

"Nothing…nothing…" I paused. I had to just get it over with quick… like taking off a band-aide. "No…not nothing…"

I glanced back up at him, then back down at my trembling hands.

"I…we…wecan'tseeeachotheragain." I stammered in a rush.

My skirt had a tear. A little slit where my chemise slip peeped through, almost unnoticeable.

The silence in the churchyard was worse than before. No breeze dared flitter through the trees to help ease the tension.

"And was this decision made all by yourself, or with the assistance of your family?" He asked quietly. I'd only heard him this agitated once, when he was going on about how his parents were always telling him to be more like his older brother. I didn't want to look up, but I did anyway.

His face was still, as unreadable as stone.

"John, you know how my family is…" I trailed off uselessly, but he picked it up.

"As far as I knew they were blissfully unaware of where you've been sneaking off to every night."

"They were!" I protested. "Last night I was climbing back through the window and Molly caught me…I convinced her that she was sleepwalking, but she mentioned it at breakfast and Mother and Father got suspicious and started asking questions…"

His expression lifted, and he grinned, teasingly, relief beginning to show in his eyes.

"Nothing wrong with asking about dreams…" he said, but I shook my head.

"Oh no, not us….Molly would have never brought it up unless she thought that I was doing something wrong…more than just telling her she was sleepwalking."

"Then we'll have to be more careful…maybe meet a little later, that's all…"

"No, John…I can't…I wish I wasn't afraid to…to speak up like you, but I can't…I shouldn't've even come tonight…Molly will be sure to be waiting…and she'll be sure to tell Mother and Father…"

I had never felt such a burning resentment for my sister until then…not even when she chased after me with the fire poker, and then told Mother that I had been the antagonist, forcing me to take the punishment. I wanted nothing more than to lock her in her room and let her rot there for all eternity.

"I have to go." I whispered. "I'll miss you."

I turned around, knowing that for certain that I hated my Great-Great Grandfather, and would for a good long time, because there could never be anyone like John.

It was a struggle to hold up my head, as though my neck and spine seemed no longer willing to support its weight. I wanted nothing more than to go back and stay with him, but Molly wouldn't be able to resist the temptation to get me in trouble. She was probably already laying in wait for me.

I felt a tug on my arm, and John was right behind me.

"Wait…" he pulled me around to face him. I opened my mouth to protest, but he leaned down and pressed his lips against mine. Soft and tentative at first, but when I didn't resist he deepened the kiss, pulling me closer.

My mind melted, my eyes closed and my heat beat erratically against my ribcage, as though trying to free itself. All I could think of was his hand on my lower back and how nice his lips felt against mine.

I stumbled backward against a tree, and a dark moan reverberated in my throat, surprising me.

My hands slid from his chest to his collar and pulled him even closer, so his body was pressed against mine. The hand on my back slid up to my face and hair, feeling through my brown curls. Goosebumps erupted in its wake.

He pulled back, and I could feel my chest heave as I breathed heavily. I wasn't quite sure if it was a crazy hallucination or if it had actually happened.

"John…" I whispered, opening my eyes, quite sure an electric current was flowing through me. I let go of his collar and let my hands drift down his shirtsleeves to the rolled up cuffs around his elbows, leaning weakly against the tree for support. My legs had the consistency of marshmallows, and I doubted my ability to walk, let alone stand properly.

"Don't go…" he said softly, and he leaned back into me. My body trembled with anticipation; my mind was drawing a blank again, only vaguely wondering how his eyes managed to smolder so beautifully.

I tipped my head back as his lips met mine again, and my hands traveling back to his neck, forcibly pulling him into me.

A branch snapped sharply, a loud gasp punctured the stillness.

"I knew it!" a voice shrieked.

I jumped nearly a foot and spun around, finding myself staring at the person I least wanted to find me entwined in John's arms.

"Molly!" I spluttered, "What are you doing here?"

"I found your window open and followed you…I knew you were up to no good but really, Delilah, _him_? Oh, out of all the disgusting and horrible people to be in cahoots with? It'll break poor Mother's heart…"

"Molly…no, you wouldn't…" I gasped, ducking from under John and lunging for her arm.

She twitched it away from my grasp, her lip curled in irritation and disgust.

"Unfortunately for you…I would." She said coolly, and grabbed my hand forcefully, yanking me behind her as she turned and strode away from the graveyard.

I stumbled after her, my wrist being crushed under her powerful strength…strength I didn't know she possessed. I turned back to John, and grappled the air to reach for his hand.

"Molly." He called after her. She stopped and whirled around.

"What." She demanded curtly, never easing on her grip.

"Let her go. We're all adults here; I think we can all get along without storming off like spoiled little children who didn't get their way." He said, cocking an eyebrow.

Molly narrowed her eyes.

"Yes, but sisters are supposed to look after one another in times of lost common sense." She said, stressing the last three words. "I don't even know why I'm wasting my time listening to you talk."

She turned back around and strode away, pulling me in tow like a guilty prisoner.

"Molly, let me go! This is absolutely ridiculous!" I spat, resisting against her, but she rounded to face me, her face twisted into a face that bespoke of giddiness and annoyance, fury and glee. Almost like a thundercloud.

"No, do you know what is absolutely ridiculous?" she questioned angrily, but she didn't wait for an answer. "The fact that you snuck out and met with _him_ of all people!"

I opened my mouth, but she held up a palm.

"Just save it."

She steered me into the house, banging the huge front doors noisily, ensuring that the whole house would be roused.

But they were all already awake and waiting; or at least Mother and Father were. They were sitting in wait like birds of prey, perched on the stiff armchairs in the parlor, the lamps on their fullest wattage, Father's cigar smoldering in the ashtray on the oak desk.

They leapt up as soon as Molly and I entered the room, and flew at us.

"Where have you been?" "Your Mother and I have been worried sick about you!" they shouted at once, interrupting each other. I didn't answer at once, and Molly jumped on the opportunity before I could think up a lie.

"She was out in the clearing by the old church…with John _Veletta_." Molly announced triumphantly, and Mother and Father were silenced at once.

The room was quiet. The deadly kind of quiet that tension reigned over, and anger in the form of electricity built up slowly, but crackled suddenly like lightning. Mother's face was stilled, almost as if it had been frozen after being slapped, but Father's was slowly contorting grotesquely. His lip curled under his moustache, and his forehead wrinkled as his brows knit together. Mother sat down heavily, but Father remained standing, fists clenching.

"You were with whom?" his voice was deadly quiet. He asked not from misunderstanding, but almost as a conformation from his eldest daughter.

"John." I tried to say defiantly, but it came out a squeak.

"No," he said slowly, his voice rising with a crescendo, finishing at a roar. "You were with a filthy liar, and a traitor to this family!"

I staggered back a step, my body trembling under the weight of disapproval. I looked at Molly, wishing I could scream at her. She was looking right back at me, her eyes bright, as though this was a kind of sporting event, and she was winning the bet.

"What were you doing there with him?" Mother asked abruptly, and I felt my face grow hot, then cold, as though the blood had drained from it. My stomach erupted and began knotting up as though I were about to vomit. The last thing I wanted was for Mother and Father to know that I was kissing John.

I stayed silent, my mind racing, trying to think of a fib plausible enough for them to believe so I could just go back to my bedroom and they could forget this whole evening.

"Speak up!" Father thundered, but my mind was still fumbling around.

"She was _kissing_ him." Molly supplied helpfully, her voice dripping malice and disgust.

Mother and Father's faces bother twitched, and I cringed, bracing myself for the impact, but Mother was the first to speak.

"How could you?" she whispered, and I lowered my eyes to the floor guiltily.

"But, but it was against your will…you wouldn't permit him to lay a hand on you…" father said suddenly, no longer angry, but frantic- desperately scrounging up some sort of excuse, hoping that his worst nightmares hadn't come true.

"She looked pretty willing to me…" Molly snorted, but Father reared against her.

"Hush!" He shouted, then turned back to me, a kind of pleading in his eyes. "You didn't want him to kiss you..."

I only nodded.

"He kissed you against your will!" He said, smiling haphazardly but I shook my head.

"No, Father…he kissed me, but it wasn't against my will…" I said hesitantly, and closed my eyes, wishing that John hadn't.

Suddenly Father was there, seizing my shoulders and shaking me, yelling in my face, his features distorted in rage.

"How could you go off gallivanting around with such a backstabbing, lie-telling, son of a bitch!?" He screamed. I twisted away from him, my back pressed against the bookcase, the mahogany digging into my spine.

I wasn't afraid, but I was angry, a sudden flare of white-hot fury consumed me and made me round on him like an angry hornet.

"How could you say such a thing about a person you don't know? The only reason you don't like them is because of some ludicrous argument hundreds of years ago!" I shouted in his face, "John's the greatest thing that's ever happened to me, and I love him!"

Tears suddenly flooded my eyes, but I wiped them away violently.

"You love him? You don't know anything about love!" Mother haughtily, scoffing at my outburst.

"Oh I don't? I've been sneaking out for months, and I'll bet he knows more about me than you do! I'll bet he cares more too!" I added recklessly, the thought that had been plaguing me slipping out.

"But does he _love_ you? And what do you know about him?" Father demanded.

"I know plenty about him! What does that have to do with anything?"

"That whole family is a bunch of liars; they've hidden things and kept things a secret, the whole lot of them!" Mother started, eyes flashing. "Everything they do is just an act, a false pretence to what they really believe. So think now, what about him do you _know_?"

I couldn't answer, and Mother began again with the same gusto as before.

"You don't know the real him, the liar in him that was bred through the generations…And you also don't know the womanizing trait in all of those horrible men…"

I caught my reflection in her reading glasses. My eyes were wide, almost fearful, dreading her continuance. The sight of it bothered me. It was sad to realize that when it came time to stand up for what I believe in, I looked frightened and childish and not strong and firm.

"Oh yes, not yesterday when your Father and I were in town I caught sight of him with another girl…a mortal…" she sneered, spitting out the word 'mortal' like it was a disease.

"And not only with her, but entwined with her, much as I assume you were."

I leaned against the bookcase, the fire swept out of me as if I'd been punched in the stomach. I felt shaky and weak, and I just wanted to get away from here. Ten minutes ago I would have bet anything that he felt the same way I did about him, and now…I wasn't sure of anything.

Mother brushed past Father and wrapped an arm around me, her tone much changed…almost kind and motherly, but not quite. "Ah, but I suppose that you didn't even suspect to guard yourself against him. Come now dear, it was just a little mistake…go on up to bed now-you'll be at your senses in the morning…"

She gave me a little push, and I left the parlor in a haze. I climbed the winding staircase like a sleepwalker, my shoes dragging on the Persian carpets, hands brushing the finely papered walls and clutched for support on sideboards and tables holding prized antiques. I thrust open the door to my room, and shut it heavily behind me.

My body seemed to want to do several things at once - scream, cry, throw myself onto the bed and not get up, run until my legs wouldn't support me.

I settled for standing in one spot like a statue. I held my breath for as long as I could before lunging for the window, feeling suddenly nauseated.

My head spun, and I leaned my head against the sash, my breath fogging the glass. I pushed open the window and climbed out onto the roof, sitting down gently on the shingles.

On my top list of worst nights of my life, this ranked number one, for sure. At this time, thirty-six hours ago, I was blissfully unaware that my life would be completely ruined by Molly.

I hugged my legs to my chest and buried my head in my knees and cried.

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**I failed to mention that it's a bit longer than my other chapters, but this story wasn't really supposed to be up here...so there you have it. **

**I must say that I believe i did a rather bang-up job on proof reading, but if i did happen to let something slip through the cracks, please let me know. **

**Reviews are appreciated. **


	2. The Window

**Sorry about getting you all excited, but I saw some flaws, and I was like, well we can't have that! **

**So a few paragraphs have been re-written if you care to check this out, in case I reference something in a future chapter that doesn't match with the old version. **

For the next month I drifted through the days, mindlessly performing tasks, eyes kept downcast. I was coolly polite, and avoided people at all costs.

My room was my sanctuary more than ever, and I took to sitting out on the roof at all hours of the night, staring at the trees as though expecting something. Nothing ever happened, and I would climb back into my room desolately, and would sit on my bed and stare at the wall.

I never cried, though. I had shame to prevent that. When my thoughts drifted to John –which they always did – a hot shame rushed over me, and I had the urge to throw what I happened to have in my hands at the moment.

My waist thinned from not eating, and the family not present on that nightmarish night would stare at my lack of appetite, but were silenced by the sharp looks of Mother and Father.

They never spoke of it, but had frostiness about their manner, and Father refrained from ever looking at me. Molly carried a smug grin and held her head higher. I just kept my own head low and ducked quietly out of rooms that they occupied.

Tonight's dinner was routine, I sat with a full plate, but touched nothing, except for a few sips of water, and excused myself as quickly as possible. I hurried up to my bedroom, and made a beeline for the window, but froze just before I unlocked it.

Someone was on the lawn.

I pulled back the curtains, and squinted to see past the glare on the glass, but I couldn't make out the figure. I was humming with suspense as I fumbled with the latch before I thrust the window open with a bang.

The person on the lawn jumped, but stepped out of the shadow of the beech tree. I felt my legs give way at the knees, and I clutched the window ledge for support.

"What are you doing here?" I choked, my voice straining with disbelief.

The figure half jogged closer to the window, his face trying out a grin, but his eyes looked pained.

"I had to see you again, Delilah." He said, and I swallowed a mouthful of air, my nails cutting into the wood.

"John…"

"I just couldn't stop thinking about you…" He said, and I felt a wrench at my chest, hot tears prickled behind my eyes. I wiped at them with fingers trembling with anger.

"But that's just it, isn't it…what about that stupid…mortal, huh?" A month's worth of brooding and stewing poured out from furious lips, poured out before thought.

John took a step back, bewildered.

"What mortal?" he asked, and I felt my nostrils flare.

"Don't pretend! Everyone saw you! I'm not so stupid not to know that you're a fool who messes with hearts. Don't grin. _Why_ are you grinning – do you think this is just some…some joke?" My voice cracked like an adolescent boy's, and his grin was wiped from his face.

"Do you mean Tracy? She is just a friend from school that I hang out with sometimes…I help her with her advanced physics homework. She isn't the brightest girl…" he made it sound like she wasn't a little pet of his, like everyone told me she was.

"What? Everyone said that they saw you two holding hands and…"

"Well whoever told you that does _not_ know what they're talking about, she is just a friend, and I would never date her! She's more like a sister to me than my own!" just his expression at the thought of dating her made me believe it was true. My vision was blurred with the onslaught of tears. I couldn't tell you why, but they did. Before I realized what he was doing, he pulled himself up on the roof. I stumbled backward as he climbed through the window.

"John, don't…I don't trust myself with you…" did he listen? Absolutely not.

"I won't do anything; I just, don't want to be standing here outside your window all night." I still didn't trust how I felt, every time I looked at him, what with my knees feeling like they're about to give, and my heart performing back flips.

He looked at me, in that frustrating way that makes me want to die in his arms, "Don't – don't look at me like that." I whispered.

"Like what? Like I've always looked at you? Like you should be looked at? Delilah, you know, you're a goddess, to my eyes, you're the world," he said it so quietly that I could barely hear him. I was all the way across the room from him, far enough away so I wouldn't risk doing something I would regret later.

"John." I looked at him, my eyes pleading, "You know I just…I can't, it's just too much, I can't go back to hiding this, and Molly, and Mother, and Father…they know. If we try again, I'm not going to be able to hide it anymore! I can't take the stress! It's just too much!" My eyes filled with tears yet again, and before I could prevent it, twin trails were working their way down my cheeks. He walked across the room towards me as I sat down hard on the bed and tried to hide my face.

"Delilah, don't cry, it'll all work out," He gently pulled my hands away from my face and stood me up. He cupped my face in his hands and wiped away my tears. He locked my gray eyes with his brown, and for a moment I thought I might faint.

"Oh John, it won't! This can't go on, not without my family knowing…and approving." I never got to finish that thought, because at that moment we heard the door open, followed by a very audible gasp.

John dropped his hands guiltily, and I spun around to face the doorway. The gasp came from my great Aunt Rosemary, returning my now clean laundry to me. She dropped the basket with a dull thump and ran from the room. My mind finally jumped into action, finally waking from the fog it had been in since I saw John on the lawn.

"John, you have to get out of here, if Father sees you, he will wring your neck, and mine." I pushed him toward the window, my heart circulating blood cold with fear.

John climbed out the window and was out of sight. Just as my window shut with a snap, my mother, father, Molly, and old Aunt Rosemary burst back in.

"Where is the bastard? Delilah, where is he?" Father said in a way that made the whole room go cold.

"Who?" I asked innocently. I was afraid my voice would falter and give me away.

"Rosemary said that there was a Veletta in here, _touching_ _you_. Delilah, if he was, I swear on my Grandfather's grave, that he will never see daylight again."

During this, Molly had a look on her face, like when she was going to get me in more trouble than I needed, and Mother had a stern look on her face that meant she was only there for parental support.

"You know Father, I thought I saw someone on the lawn, about an hour ago, and then I heard arguing coming from in here,"

Oh, how I wished Molly had never learned to speak.

Father looked at me with a look in his eyes that I had never seen before, I wasn't sure if it was a good look yet.

"Delilah, if he has hurt you or touched you in a way that you didn't like you can tell me, justice will be served on anyone who tries to hurt my girl."

"Father, you needn't phone the police, no one has been in here…I suppose Aunt Rosemary must have been hearing things…" I said carefully. Father first stared at me as if to catch sight of a lie, and then at Rosemary. Finally he turned and stormed out as if disgusted by the whole affair, Mother and Rosemary followed quickly behind.

Molly glared at me so harshly, that it was like daggers were being thrown from them, but she too turned and left. When the door finally creaked shut, it was like a huge weight had lifted from my chest, and I realized with a start that I had been holding my breath.

I counted to ten, and then ran to the window. I threw it open and stuck my head out. "John?" I whispered. He stepped out from beside the pane, where he had been pressed flat against the wall.

"I have to go," he kneeled under the window and grabbed my hand. "Do you want me to come back tomorrow night?"

I nodded silently, suddenly wishing he would stay the night with me. The thought made my cheeks grow hot, and I felt embarrassed that the idea had ever entered my mind.

He brought his lips to my hand, and I had the sudden urge to pull his mouth to mine. My cheeks, I was sure, were now the same color of a tomato.

Silently I thanked God that my face was hidden in the shadows. John's face rose, and he wore a grinning, almost giddy expression. I couldn't help smiling back.

"See you tomorrow." I blushingly blew him a kiss, and I watched him as he dropped off the roof silently, and disappeared into the darkness.

From my mouth escaped a sigh as I lay back on my bed, fully clothed. I kicked off my shoes and pulled the quilt at the end of my bed up to my chin, and allowed the first pleasant dreams I'd had for a month wash over me.

The next morning at breakfast I felt the first bite of hunger, and I ate my waffles and eggs with almost a cheery air, and the smile that unknowingly played on my lips did not go unnoticed by my Mother and Father.

A knowing look passed between them, and after breakfast they carefully cleared their throats and asked for me to join them in the drawing room.

They refused to speak for a long five minutes, and even in my happy stupor I could sense something was amiss. Father cleared his throat again, and inexplicably my stomach dropped.

"We failed to mention it to you yesterday, Delilah…but you should really get a hurry on with your packing."

"Packing? Where are we going?" I asked, surprised.

"No, not us, you."

"Me?" I spluttered.

"We're sending you away to a boarding school," my mother said smartly.

I had the dizzying urge to sit down, but remained standing.

"You're sending me away? But…but why? What of Ella?" I asked, thinking of my governess of the last ten years.

"She is no longer suitable for you. We've decided that you would benefit more from an education abroad." Father said, and he turned away. He put a rather heavy emphasis on 'abroad', and I thought I caught a fleeting glimpse of smugness before he faced the china cabinet, pulling out a cigar.

I wanted to cry out 'how could you take me away at such a time?' but I knew that saying that would be conformation enough that John had been here.

But yet, perhaps they knew of his appearance last night and was reasoning for this hurried departure. Whatever the reason, I knew that I would not be able to see John for a long while.

The sudden realization made my throat catch, and a sense of panic had suddenly seemed to settle on my chest.

"When will I be leaving?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"This afternoon."

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**Ducky! Well, I'll be updating soon, I hope. I have the chapter after next already written out, so if the next chapter isn't worth beans and is rushed and all terrible, I can assure you that the next chapter will be fantastical and nice and long. **

**Re-reviews would be lovely too…**


	3. Proprieties

**This might just be the longest chapter I have ever written…and personally, it's my favorite…**

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I packed just like I was told, shoes, dresses, slips, stockings, garters, girdles, and bras, dressing gowns, night gowns, robes, and bed jackets, brushes, combs, hair clips, handkerchiefs, perfumes, powders and makeup, a few pictures and books, and a record or two.

I barely noticed what all was going into the trunk, only that I needed to get it packed, and soon. My body was going through all the motions fine, folding and arranging and re-folding, trying to make it all fit, but mentally I was scolding myself.

A few times I had started to feel horribly depressed, but I would tell myself to snap out of it. It was my entire fault that I was in this mess in the first place, starting with how I'd gotten sloppy and careless about when I would sneak out. Of course Molly would have heard the nightly routine of me hopping off the roof and then dashing away. It was absolutely absurd to think her prying nature would ignore it.

And I shouldn't have gone to see John that night either, especially when I just knew that Molly would be waiting to catch me, and I certainly shouldn't have allowed John to kiss me. Not only was it risky and stupid, it was immodest and improper.

I had been to one of these boarding schools before, about thirty years ago in nineteen-hundred. That's where I learned about things like modesty and proprieties. Things had been much different then, and the rules of etiquette have changed dramatically. Especially since the time I was born in eighteen seventy five.

The disadvantage to me being born the year that I was is all of the hullabaloo about clothing. It's really rather ridiculous, what with us girls running around with skirts to our shins, and the abandonment of corsets, which makes a bit of difference to Molly and I, especially Mother.

I had gotten all nice and trained and such, and then nineteen ten or so came around and they were completely out of style, and the girdle and bra came and took its place.

Back then you had to be right proper with how you wore your skirts and hair and acted, but all of that changed in the twenties, everything was so exciting and new and different.

Of course, the skirts were completely audacious, and Mother and Father would have died rather than see me in one, and so I never partook in the madness, but I'd heard of things.

The twenties weren't all that fun, us not being allowed to try the new fashions and ragtime, and what with Grandmother dying off…a few people that we entrusted with our secrets, like the maids and so forth, they got used to calling us immortal, and we got used to it. But we really aren't. We could drop dead any day now, just like the mortals…we just stick around longer, that's all.

And it's hard to tell if you are 'immortal' or not before you're eleven or twelve or so, because you grow normally until you reach adolescents, and then after that, you slow completely down, and your grow ten times slower, so you only have a birthday every ten years, and it's like that for the rest of your life.

Which means that you have a lot of time to think, and a lot of time to rail at yourself for not being more levelheaded.

I noticed a corner of paper sticking out from under my mattress, and I pulled it out, already knowing what it was.

Carefully I sat down on the bed and cradled the picture in my hands. It had captured him grinning, and I could feel my pulse speed up, already missing him.

-

The next two years, I never once thought of him. Not because I had forgotten, oh no…never that; but because I forced myself not to. I was quiet and polite, keeping distance from most of the girls, and threw myself into the silly lessons they gave on manners and sewing.

A few girls were friendly, and we shared a dormitory, but I was reluctant to share information on how I came about being at the school.

The girls my age had already been to a school when they were younger, around the same time I had. A few had come back because of their lacking good manners, but most girl's parents had decided that along with the changing times, their girls should be taught how to act in new strange situations that had once been considered scandalous.

Of course, the spinsters who taught the school refused to give up the old ideals, and preached the same lessons of courting as they had thirty years prior. The school was for immortals alone, and the girls were warned against the evils of marrying a mortal; bad luck, disfigured children, broken hearts and second marriages, something the spinsters found so shocking for young ladies that if anyone suggested re-marrying sent them into a fluttery state, crying for smelling salts.

After one incredibly passionate lecture about marriage and obeying your Mother and Father's wished, my girlfriends were chatting about how their parents had already picked out someone to marry them, and how they always obeyed their Mother and Father…unless a certain someone came calling. They giggled and teased each other, but I refrained from joining in. A kind of hot guilt had filled me during the lesson, and I was fighting against thinking of the reason why.

"Delilah, what about you? Have you already been lined up for marriage?" a girl called Francine asked suddenly, breaking my train of thought.

"Er, I don't quite know…Mother and Father never mentioned anything…" I said, suddenly realizing that they hadn't arranged someone for me. Or if they had, I knew nothing about it.

Yet.

Early in August, I received a letter, first reporting of my coming home, and then of news that caused me to have to re-read the same phrase over an over again, never registering it's meaning. It wasn't until Mary, the girl who roomed with me kindly took the letter out of my trembling hands and read it aloud did the words even have a meaning.

"_For it is with a light heart that I happily inform you that we have found a man suitable to marry you to. We shall be announcing your engagement to him on the thirty-first, the evening after your return. His name is Benjamin Harold, and comes from a long line of pure…_"

The other girls had spoken of what it felt like to be married off without consent, complaining lightly, hoping that he was neither ugly nor rude, but they had never voiced the fears that I had felt suddenly arise in me.

I knew nothing of this man, what if we never got along, and he was absolutely horrid? What if I do not like him, what if he is dull or aggravates me until I could no longer stay in the same room as him? What if he insists upon things that I do not approve, like excessive gambling or something equally unbecoming?

What ifs flew about in my mind, and not two days after I received the letter, I ran to Madam Wale and confessed all my fears. She twisted her lips in what I assumed was an understanding smile, and told me "Even if all of those fears were proved true, which is highly doubtful, that it is a woman's burden, and nothing could be done, unless your Mother and Father agree with you."

Her comment hadn't been reassuring, and the worry lines on my forehead became more pronounced as my date to return home approached.

The morning of the thirtieth I was a nervous wreck. Mother hadn't written again to inform me anything more about my fiancé. My friends had sent me off with sad but hopeful faces, wishing me good fortune for a handsome betrothed. They promised to write, and made me promise I would do the same, informing them of all the details of my prospective husband.

They did their best to ease my nervousness, for they could feel the unease radiate off me, and it worked until I could see the family automobile drive up to the school.

All the Madams and my friends had waved goodbye as we drove off, and I dearly wished that I could have stayed behind with them. It was late evening by the time I arrived home, but the family was awake and waiting for me. In turn they all gave me hugs and kisses, except Molly, who simply nodded by way of greeting. They agreed that it was late and I should be in bed to be fresh for tomorrow's party, and meeting Mister Harold.

My room was exactly the same as how I had left it, only with a freshly cleaned and aired out scent, and my trunk was rested at the foot of my bed, open and ready to be unpacked. Slowly I did so, and I debated over and over in my mind whether or not it was nice to be home. True, it was nice seeing familiar faces, and returning to a house free of madam's who were quick to squawk over tiny mistakes, but as I opened my window and felt a warm breeze drift lazily over my face, I wasn't sure if coming home was a good thing.

-

I was dressed in a midnight blue satin dress that mother had bought before I had come home. It had a plunging neckline, much too low for my liking, and a tight bodice that hugged my torso before cascading gently down to my feet, a thin velvet vine snaked across my stomach and around to the back where material gathered and spilled out, a small train following me.

It required fetching a waist cincher, as mother had expected my waist to still be dwindling. She didn't know that the madam's would require plates clean at every meal. I was squeezed into the dress; my hair was curled and set, my gloves pulled on along with a false diamond bracelet, and a pearl necklace. My makeup was put on and when I looked in the mirror, I didn't quite recognize the girl looking back at me.

Her grey eyes were too large and frightened, her brows drawn together as if confused by something, her cheeks the most delicate shade of pink, her lips painted red and pursed. The thick brown hair resting on her shoulders a contrast to her light skin.

I frowned, wondering if Benjamin Harold would find me attractive.

-------------

As Mother led me down the stairs to the parlor where our closest family friends, that is to say only the highest society of pure-bloods, lay in wait to hear the news of my engagement, I couldn't shake away the feeling of a lamb being led to the slaughterhouse.

Mother was being overly kind, warbling on about him, saying things about his money and his family, but only when we reached the threshold did I realize she had never once said anything to the likes of 'you'll love him.'

The crowd of elegantly dressed people turned as they noticed our arrival. The chatter paused, and the sudden attention was like a bright spotlight, blinding me, and making me want to run away.

Mother re-doubled her grip on my elbow as if she knew my thoughts, and she smiled broadly, nudging me to do the same. My lip twitched into what I hoped was a smile and not a grimace. We descended the step into the parlor, and the crowd turned back to who they had been visiting with before, the chatter considerably more animated, no doubt refueled by my appearance.

Father stood in a small group of men who I dimly recognized as people from his office. There was a young man on his right side, however, who I didn't recognize, and a cold feeling in my stomach led me to believe that he was the one I was expected to marry.

They all looked up at our approach, their conversation halted abruptly. Father looked anxious, probably hoping that Mister Harold and I would get along. He stepped back, letting the man on his right have a better view of me.

"Er, uh, Gentlemen, I'm sure you remember my daughter, Delilah…" he said, addressing his co-workers first. They nodded, and he quickly glanced between Mister Harold and me before continuing. "Mister Harold, this is my daughter, er, your fiancée Delilah…Delilah, this is Benjamin Harold…"

Mister Harold looked me straight in the eyes, and I felt my cheeks grow warm. His gaze was like ice going straight through me. They were pure blue without a hint of any other color, and they shone from his almost painfully handsome face. His hair was fair and light, but his face was swarthy like he spent most of his time outdoors. He was dressed quite fashionably, his suit seemed as though he had only just had it made.

His hand reached for mine and kissed it, but not before those blue eyes quickly traveled from the top of my head to the hem of my gown. The blush intensified, and I felt positively undressed.

"Charmed to make your acquaintance, Miss Eschweiler." He said smoothly, and I could detect the faintest tone of sarcasm, as though he found it amusing that we had only just met and were being forced to wedlock.

"The feeling is returned, Mister Harold…" I said automatically. I wasn't exactly sure if I meant it, but it wouldn't exactly be wise to say 'that makes one of us.'

Mother and Father left, muttering something about us getting better acquainted, and for a few moments we chatted. Awkwardly on my part, but he seemed to revel in my discomfort. I learned he was one of my father's business partners, and that we would be living in a city a hundred miles from here. A prospect that made me swallow hard, and have to force a smile.

After what felt like an eternity, Father rang a knife against his glass of whiskey, and waited for silence. The crowd of people was quiet at once, turning eager faces to wait for his speech.

"Er, I'd like to first thank you all for coming to our little party…" he bowed his head in the direction of the crowd of people in his parlor. "And, I'd also like to announce the engagement of my Daughter, Miss Delilah Rowena Eschweiler to Mister Benjamin Robert Harold." He gestured to Mister Harold and I.

The crowd applauded politely, and turned to where Father had gestured, smiling broadly.

Father continued to say something, but Mister Harold leaned down and suddenly whispered "Miss Eschweiler, would you walk with me in the garden? I'd like to ask you something in private." His breath was hot against my ear, and I had to resist shivering. I nodded instead and carefully led him out the open French doors that led to the little garden that was made up under Mother's insistence when she discovered that all fashionable houses had gardens round the side.

We walked in silence for a while, pausing finally under the iron archway that led to the wide emerald lawn that was broken up by a few towering, ancient trees.

"Delilah," he said, not bothering with the formalities that were essential until we were finally man and wife, according to society.

His blue eyes were traveling along my figure again, and I stepped backwards, uncomfortable by the closeness and the rapidness of our relationship that had officially begun only minutes before.

He closed the gap between us in one step, and his hand shot out to my waist, pulling me against him roughly.

"Mister Harold!" I said, shocked and scandalized. "We have only just met! Please, remove your hands!"

He ignored me, sensing my fear and apparently excited by it. Ruthlessly he forced his mouth on mine, harsh and punishing. His hand groped south of my waist, and I squealed, wriggling away from him. Without thinking I raised a hand and slapped him, my trembling gloved hand did little more than make a muffled sound, but he turned upon me, his eyes almost glowing in anger.

I stumbled backward, my heart racing in fear of what he would do to me, and I backed toward the side entrance to the house, used by maids and the like.

His legs were longer than mine, and he grabbed at me again, his hand raised high in the air. I tried to squirm free, but his bare hand made contact with my cheek, a sharp cracking sound echoed sickeningly against the trees.

I recoiled, and brought a gloved hand to my stinging cheek, my mouth aghast in a round 'O'.

"No wife of mine will _ever_ strike me, do you understand?" the combination of his menacing tone and his face so close to mine sent me trembling, and I fought to keep it under control, and show that I was tougher than him.

"Then it is fortunate for you, Mister Harold that I refuse to be your wife. This engagement has ended as we speak." I said forcibly, keeping my voice from wavering, but only just barely.

I backed away from him, my hands balled into fists at my sides, the backs of my heels catching the back of the dress. Before Benjamin realized what I was doing, I slipped back inside and locked the garden door behind me.

His fists hammered on the doors, and I stumbled back and fled, past the parlor where I made my hasty excuse to mother. I lied and complained of a headache, and asked to make my excuses to the guests, all the while artfully covering my throbbing cheek.

My shoes had never sounded so loud on the stairs as I hurried to my bedroom now, seeking privacy and quiet. I shut the door gratefully, but immediately I felt claustrophobic, as though the walls were closing in on me, accusing me of crimes unsaid.

The room started to spin, and I lurched to the window, clawing through the linen curtains and forcing the window open before inhaling the warm night air. It was humid and smelled moist, clouds blocked out the moon, threatening rain, but there was no doubt in my mind after that first fortifying breath of air.

I hurried over to my wardrobe and pulled out one of the oil lamps that I hadn't had the heart to throw out after electrical lights had been installed in the house, and were now used when the electricity shorted out during storms.

The oil flask was half empty, but I didn't dare go to the storage cupboard and refill it with oil, lest I be discovered. I set the delicate blown glass lamp down on my bedside table and locked the door before I picked the lamp back up, bunched my dress up above my knees, and stepped out the window onto the roof.

With only a hurried glance back to see if anyone had noticed my sudden departure, I strode off into the woods, my lamp lighting the way.

I don't know why I went back to the churchyard, maybe it was just a moment of idiocy, or maybe it was the only place that I could go to get away from Mister Harold, but I knew that as soon as I stepped into the clearing that I should have come sooner.

It was almost as though an eiderdown had been wrapped around me, comforting me. I drank in the sight of the churchyard; the little church itself, the whitewashed wood siding faded and stained from years of rain and snow. A rusted and twisted wrought iron fence surrounded it and the graveyard, its wide gate hanging drunkenly of its hinges. Grass and weeds growing wild and pushing up around the mortar between the stones in the little path leading up to the broken and once impressive doors to the church. The little stone bench inscribed with a name of a founder of the building sat squarely alongside the fence, once used to harbor disobedient children sent outside.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a particular tree, one that even though I hadn't exactly seen, but I would know anywhere. I felt a warm blush creep across my cheeks, and I suddenly felt foolish from coming back here.

I shifted my feet nervously, debating on going back home, something I wanted to avoid, or staying here, and risk being caught in the rain, as well has have to face memories that should be kept locked away and never brought up.

Nature had decided for me, however; a distant roll of thunder echoed close and loud. The clouds were knitting together, the night sky completely blanketed by thick, low clouds. The air felt heavy, and a wind started up, catching the bottom of my dress, letting it flutter around my legs.

I turned to head inside the decaying church, but a footfall behind me made my breath catch and I stopped for a moment before spinning around, my heart in my throat as a masculine figure stepped out from the forest.

He was out of sight of my lamp, only a shadowy figure, and I fought to keep my face from looking petrified. How could Benjamin have followed me out here? Had he circled the house and noticed me climb from the second floor? But he couldn't have, he came from a different path than mine…

However, as he came closer into the lamplight, I could make out his features, and a sigh containing a name escaped my lips. I could feel a smile tug at the corners of my mouth, but it faltered when I realized what he was staring at.

I quickly covered my cheek with my hand and bowed my head away from the light, but he caught my hand, and gently pulled my face towards him. No smile could be coaxed from either of our faces, our expressions equally grim and serious. Mine was pleading, asking for no questions, but his demanded answers.

"What happened, Delilah?" He asked, and I cast my eyes down. I couldn't bear to look at him.

"Nothing, just an…an accident, that's all." I lied, knowing that I was as transparent as cellophane.

"And accident by way of a bruise the shape of a hand?" he said quietly, and I looked back up at him, shocked. A bruise had already formed?

I stepped away, wishing that I had put powder over it, wishing he would pretend he didn't see, wishing he would just take me in his arms and kiss me…but no, not that, definitely not that…it would crumble all my resistance, my defense; everything I had built up to protect myself.

He paused for a long minute, deciding whether or not to pursue the topic as I in turn said nothing. I fiddled with the lamp, shifting it in my hands, concentrating my attention on it, rather than John.

"Could you at least tell me where you've been for the past two years?" I looked back up at him, apologetic.

"I had been shipped off to boarding school, that very same day. Mother and Father didn't waste any time…they knew you were there…I wanted to tell you, I did…but John…don't you see? Mother and Father, they'll always come between us, and I just can't stand up to them…" I trailed off uselessly, and carefully averted my eyes to the dark sky, determined not to send trails of eye mascara running down my cheeks.

"Then tell me, Delilah. What will your life be like, in that far of time, in the twenty-first century? When you're on your death-bed, what will you be remembering?"

And I could see it; if I stayed far from John and the churchyard clearing, if I knuckled under to Benjamin. A wealthy house in a wealthy neighborhood, high social standings, little children brought up, catered to for their every want. Money, fashion, society's finest, Mother could not have envisioned it better herself. But it was an empty future, full of fear, and devoid any real joy. Hiding bruises from servants, faking smiles that children can see through, hastily muffled shouting and beatings, retaining and withstanding all with no support.

Something must have shown through on my face, and John took my hand, and I was suddenly glad he was there.

"It sounds selfish to ask you that for me, but for yourself…do what's best for yourself." He whispered, leaning close to me, his breath grazing my ear and my neck. I felt goosebumps erupt on my arms, but I still felt vaguely infuriated.

How could I know what's best for myself? All my life I'd been led around, shown which path to take, what to wear, think, say, and do…and to thrust such a question upon me…it was only proof revealing what a mindless lapdog I had been. I didn't know what to do anymore…I couldn't run to an all-knowing nanny or mother for guidance.

"I don't know what's best…" I said quietly, and a flash of light and a roll of thunder seconded me. I shuddered; I didn't know if it was because of my incapability or the thunder and lightning.

A light rain began to fall, and John tugged my hand. "Let's get into the church." Another flash of light and roll of thunder accompanied him, and I nodded, following him into the ancient building.

I had never been inside, but my assumptions of what it might look like inside were surprisingly accurate. Pews half rotten sank precariously close to the ground, floorboards were eaten through by vermin, making neat little burrows under the floor. The cavernous ceiling was dark and gloomy, the support beams looking as though they may come crashing down any moment, giving up and age old job. The front of the church, where a choir and preacher once dominated attentions, was looking sad and ignored. Altars and pulpit broken; any former glory and pride of this church had given way to ruin.

Lightning flashes, momentarily illuminating the church with ghostly light, shadows leaping menacingly before consuming the room again as thunder took light's place, slowly creeping closer after the first. The slight drizzle had given way to a steady rainfall, pounding against the broken shingles, and leaking through, dripping onto the floors and pews alike.

I gripped John's hand tighter and sidled closer to him. He led me to a bench near the pulpit that wasn't drooping as drunkenly as the others, took the lamp from me and set it on the pew next to us.

My fingertips were coated with a delicately thick coating of dust as I brushed at the seat before sitting down, but I didn't feel any guilt for soiling my gloves. My heart was pounding at the thought of John being so close to me after so long. He was only a breath away, and it had only quite abruptly been realized how fiercely I had missed him.

Perhaps the thought had struck him as well, for quite suddenly he said "You look beautiful, Delilah."

I blushed and looked down, consciously aware of how low my neckline dipped, revealing proof of a bosom.

"I missed you." I whispered, and I shifted closer to him as a crack of thunder threatened to shake the building.

Somehow I wound up in his arms, my head pressed against his chest, dizzied by the steady beat of his heart that pulsated in time with my own. I turned my face up to his, and watched the play of shadows that danced across his features, sporadically lit up by lightning.

Somehow his lips drew closer to mine, until they were so close I could feel the heat from them. In the back of my mind, a tiny voice was screaming warnings. Maybe it was common sense, or maybe it was common sense's brother, stupidity, but either way, I pushed the warnings away, not caring to think of what I might feel later, not caring that later I would curse myself for allowing me to further hurt my already bruised and scarred heart.

And somehow, as his lips met my own, and as the lightning flared and thunder crashed, all thoughts of reason and common sense and doubt began swirling faster and faster like a child's toy top, going round and round until they became a blur before spinning off wildly, only a feebly protesting shadow remaining.

It was the lightest of touches, but even as my thoughts swirled, something burning and scorching rose in me, and I pushed myself more insistently upon him, partially shocked at the feelings inside of me, but at that moment the only thing that mattered was holding onto John. As I pressed myself against him, the world began to sway and wobble; I lost all account of time and space, and John was the only anchor in this mad world.

His hand traced my face, and as it passed over my fresh bruise I let out a small whimper of pain. He pulled back, his face worried for fear of hurting me.

But the slight pain had already vanished, and all I knew was that I needed him, needed him just like I needed oxygen to survive. "Don't stop." I murmured.

It was barely audible, and I wasn't sure he heard me until he dipped his face close to mine again.

"I want to know who hurt you like that, Delilah." His voice was hoarse, low and intense.

I didn't even have a chance to reply; he pulled my face to his and kissed me with such intensity that it sent shivers down my spine; every particle of my body was alive and tingling, all of me wanting more.

He pressed his body against mine, turning me to face him, our hips and thighs conjoined. Slowly and carefully he lowered me on my back, the rough pew's wood snagging and biting into the back of my dress, destroying the soft satin slowly but surely.

I wasn't thinking of how I was ruining my dress, but rather of John's fingers, gently tracing the delicate velvet vine on the dress, following the pattern from my bodice down my back, before weaving a new line up my legs, pulling both skirt and slip along.

A soft cry escaped my mouth when his lips left mine for my throat, and all at once he stopped, shocked in the realization of what he was doing. We lay like that for the longest time, staring at each other. I felt heat rise across my cheekbones, suddenly aware of how I reacted to his touch.

Thunder roared, shaking the little building, rain pounded against the roof, steadily dripping not a foot away from us, and lightning flashed dazzlingly, but John and I were frozen, still melded together, skirts still bunched up past my knees, his arms on either side of my shoulders, caging me to the pew, my arms extended above my head, both of our chests heaving as we tried to regain our breath.

And eventually, as time passed slowly, the lightning and thunder were fewer and farther between, growing softer and less threatening, and the rain let up to a slight drizzle before stopping completely.

"It sounds like the rain stopped." I said softly, not wanting to break the silence, but I knew that someone would be sent to check on my 'headache', if they hadn't already.

"Yeah," he agreed quietly, looking equally reluctant to break the connection.

We paused for a long moment, and then he got up, freeing me from the heavenly prison of his arms. I sat up, and quickly pulled my skirts down, rather dizzied by the quick motion.

"Will you come back tomorrow?" I whispered, and he smiled.

"I'll be here if you'll be here."

I nodded. There was no way that I could stay away.

When I finally stumbled through my window, my room was dark and cool compared to the hot humid air outside. I blew out the lamp, now nearly empty of oil, and set it down on my nightstand before flipping on the electric lamp next to my bed.

I could only pray that no one had tried to come up and check on my headache, for if they did I was sure to be doomed, and there would be no way of going back. I would be practically chained to Mother and Father's bedside, if not Molly's.

Quickly I rushed to my dressing room and undid the buttons on the back of the dress before sliding out of it and my slip. Only then did I realize that one of the garters had been undone. I felt my face grow hot, especially as I looked up in the mirror to find my lips swollen and bruised, lipstick smudged. My hair was disheveled, coming out of its neat curls, and a purple mark on my left cheek screamed of a handprint. My mouth fell open and I grabbed a towel from the washstand and hurriedly wiped my face clean of any trace of lipstick.

I stripped of my stockings and underclothes and hastily pulled on my nightgown, carefully avoiding my reflection in the mirror.

There was a knock at my bedroom door and I froze as if I had been caught in the act of stealing. I rushed out of the dressing room while trying to smooth my disheveled hair, hid the lamp under my pillow, and opened my door, as though I hadn't just been covering up proof that I had snuck off.

It was mother, and she looked agitated, if not annoyed.

"I suppose the, er, party's over…" I said, noticing that Mother was still in her moiré gown.

"Yes, and I think you will owe Mister Harold an apology for locking him in the garden." She said sternly, and I pursed my lips, wondering if I should tell her.

"Mother, Mister Harold and I…we must end this engagement." I said abruptly, and she raised an eyebrow.

"And why would you do that?" she asked scathingly, most certainly annoyed.

I stepped out from behind the door, revealing the left side of my face, the side with the bruise in the form of Benjamin Harold's hand.

"Because of this." I gestured towards it, half expecting her to scream and faint. But she didn't. Instead, she sighed and rolled her eyes.

"You're calling it off because of a little slap? Darling, you must have learned _something _at charm school, much less how to speak to a man. What did you say to him?"

My mouth fell open. I hadn't exactly been expecting the scream or faint, but certainly not to have the blame fall upon my shoulders.

She was born in seventeen-forty-three and had been brought up with masochism, and accepting that men held the reins in life, not women, and expected her daughters to know the same thing. She figured that every woman must uphold the family name and obey your mother, father and husband for every command.

I believed this as well as she did, for she raised me with these principals and I saw no wrong in them, but just as I could not stand being apart from John, I could not stand for a controlling and dominating husband such as Mister Harold.

"Mother, he took liberties upon me, I had to defend myself!" I stuttered, and she shook her head.

"What did you do?"

"I slapped him." I said, not sorry at all that I had. He deserved much worse than my weak hit.

It was her turn to be aghast. "No, no, no! You must _never_ strike a man! Have you no sense in your head? As soon as that horrid bruise heals you must apologize. You are risking your future prosperity for silly little matters of propriety. Now, goodnight, Delilah, I hope that you keep that thought in mind tonight. You will see that I am correct."

She turned on her heel and left me standing there, watching her swish gracefully down the hallway out of sight, and listening to her high heels hammer the staircase.

Slowly and carefully I shut the door with a click and padded to my bed, slipping under the covers and shutting off the light with deliberate precision, an endeavor of controlling my muscles before I flew to pieces and screamed like a mad woman.

I had assumed that somehow Mother would see to it that I never had to see Benjamin Harold again…I had assumed that Mother wouldn't allow him anywhere near me after seeing the proof on my cheek, but instead she was forcing me unto him, demanding I apologize for _my _actions.

My bed creaked as I rolled onto my side. I had thought I would be free of him, and until the next suitor would be thrust upon me, I could be guilt free about seeing John. But it wouldn't be so. Until this bruise healed, John and I could still meet without much fear of being discovered. Mother would never think that I would go out and be seen with my face such a mess. But I would.

I was too weak to resist John, especially after tonight. The memory of his fingers on my body brought goosebumps to my flesh, and pulled the blankets tighter around me, remembering his perfect lips covering my own. I tried not to think of how sometime soon I would have to stop seeing him, and how all I would ever have of him would be memories. Memories that I would have to force away, memories that I had to pretend didn't exist, otherwise I would go crazy.

It was a joke to pretend that I could somehow escape from marriage to Benjamin Harold. It was a joke to think that somehow I would not be lying stiff and scared to death in a marriage bed, a new name foreign and bad tasting on my tongue.

Delilah Harold.

A shudder passed through me, and I hugged a pillow to my chest. It wasn't nearly as comforting as hugging John. A small smile formed as a new thought popped up.

Delilah Veletta.

Before I could stop it, thoughts of weddings and marriage beds raced through my head, and I found myself picturing us entwined together without worrying about proprieties and decency and stupid decorum.

My face burned, and I rolled onto my other side, flinging the pillow away from me. It landed on the floor with a dull thump. My bruise burned, but I didn't roll back over, and I very pointedly concentrated on the pain.

The next few nights, I made sure I covered my face with powder enough so that the bruise looked less like a plum's skin had replaced my own, and more like a shadow; a trick of the light. But John knew it was there, and it didn't fool him one bit. He always asked the same question first thing, but I always kept silent. Instead we talked of other things, just like old times. Jokes and stories, teasing and boastings that made me laugh and roll my eyes.

But the night after that, I barely had time to say hello. He took my face in his hands and pushed me against the side of the church. Every contour of my body was against his, and had it not been for my arms thrown over his shoulders, I would have fainted straight away. His mouth was insistent against mine, his hands not as gentle against my body as the first night inside the church. My heart was pounding wildly, and my hands had a life of their own, trailing from his shoulders the collar of his shirt, fumbling with the buttons there, my mind racing, wondering what had brought about this sudden passion; not that I was complaining…

John's hands carefully pulled mine away and quickly unbuttoned the shirt; I helped pull it off him before we started in on his undershirt. He untucked it from his trousers and pulled it over his head, our kiss broken for only a moment. I had never seen a bare chest before, and my throat caught. He leaned back into me, and I couldn't help but run my hands over his bare skin. It was an experience like no other, feeling his warmth radiate to my hands.

I slid my hands from his waist to his neck, his shoulders and his back, pulling him closer to me, even as I brought my trembling fingers back to my own chest and began undoing my own blouse. John's hands grabbed mine, and he pulled his head away from mine.

A different light shone in his eyes from when I first saw him tonight, a kind of a pained and ashamed look replaced his sultry and aching expression, and he wrenched away from me, swearing.

He hung his head, silent for a moment before he looked back up at me, regret written all over his face. "I'm a cad, Delilah, truly I am." He said suddenly. He stooped to grab his abandoned shirts, and he kissed my uninjured cheek chastely before disappearing into the forest.

I was rooted to the spot, not quite sure what had just happened. I gradually fixed the button at the hollow of my throat and staggered back home, managing to get lost once, and take the wrong fork twice.

After what felt like hours, I was back in my dressing room sluggishly undressing, a sharp contrast to how I had been not too long ago. Undoing my blouse felt like it took ages, but I didn't doubt that the row of buttons would have been unbuttoned in a flash if John ever kissed me like that again.

For a long while I sat staring at my reflection in the mirror, observing how my hair had become tangled and out of place, my lips had half-way recovered, but still tingled at my touch. The bruise had all but completely disappeared, and I knew that tomorrow it would be covered up and I would have to face Mister Harold again.

Which meant that quite soon I would be disappearing for good, and John would be nothing but a memory used to keep me company when I had noting else to distract me from misery. I knew I probably shouldn't see him again, but the pained look on his face tore at my heart. I wished he was with me now, so I could tell him that I didn't mind anything at all, but somehow I knew that could only make it worse.

"What a mess this all is." I whispered to my disheveled reflection, and then dropped my head to the vanity table, ashamed of myself.

**I regret if I have missed a mistake or made an error somewhere. **

**Let me know what you thought of the chapter, though!**

**xoxo**


	4. Truth

**I'd apologize, but…well…you hear it from so many authors that you're pretty much like, 'forget it…I just want to read this bad boy…"**

**And so, with-out further ado…the fourth chapter. **

**-----------------------**

Benjamin called in the early evening, and I haltingly apologized to him for slapping him, as Mother watched gleefully from over my shoulder. He accepted, and Mother left her perch, declaring that she would let us get to know each other better, the reason, she said, that the whole affair happened because of. As soon as she left, however, Benjamin dropped the cool and polite charade at once and grabbed my wrists hard, almost crushing them.

"You spineless little wench, you went and told your mother on me. And here I thought that you had some stamina…you will _never_ do that again." He spat, his voice barely above a whisper, but still deadly. He released my hands, but before I realized he had let go, he hit me in the stomach with one stwift punch. All my breath was expelled in one go, but Mister Harold was acting as if nothing had happened.

He stood, suddenly calm and polite again, acting as though nothing had happened, saying that it was getting late and that he had better head home.

Over dinner, completely oblivious to how I felt about the whole affair, Mother prattled on about the plans for the wedding; a topic I found sickening. She was talking about the engagement announcement that she had sent out when Father interrupted her.

"And you made sure you sent one to the Veletta's?" He said, malice gleaming in his eyes.

I choked on my bite of broccoli, and quickly took a drink of water as Mother shot a quick irritated glance at me before speaking.

"Of course! Their daughter is older than Delilah and she hasn't had _anyone _take interest in her…they should have gotten it yesterday." She was smiling, proud that her daughter had won the competition between families.

I was cold all over, and vaguely dizzy, almost as if I had been hit in the stomach again. John was sure to know about it, maybe his Mother or Father outraged that the closed minded and cold hearted Eschweiler's had beaten them to the punch and had fumed loudly. Or maybe he had read it himself on those horrid looking cards written in overly elegant handwriting.

My knuckles were white as I clenched them in my lap, resisting the urge to throttle Mother.

The rest of dinner past agonizingly slow, but at last I was free to go to my room. The sun was still up, and it wasn't safe to leave for hours still, but pacing my room was beginning to drive me mad. I threw myself on my bed and glared at the ceiling, and tried to come up with something to say to him, but it all sounded foolish and stupid.

"Well, I didn't tell you about it because I just wanted to have unspoiled memories for when Mister Harold finally drags me off..."

"See, the thing is, I hadn't told you because I didn't really want to admit it to myself that I was…"

"The bruise on my cheek? Well, remember that engagement announcement…"

At the thought of the bruise I frowned and rubbed my stomach absentmindedly. Heaven knew it hurt, but at least it wasn't visible under my clothes. As for my wrists, angry welts were starting to turn a strange shade of brown and green. Gloves could hide them, just as long as he didn't touch my hands.

I never expected that I would have to think about these things; hadn't even really considered it when I was worrying about him back at the school. Never in a million years did I think that Mother and Father would set me up with an abusive man.

What was I going to write the girls? I couldn't tell them about him, somehow Benjamin would find out, and hit me again -maybe if I just let him have his way he wouldn't strike me. But I couldn't flat out lie and say he was wonderful. I glanced out the window, and the sun had finally set, but still, it was too early.

I launched myself off the bed, wincing a little at my stomach, and sat down at my desk, pulling parchment and a pen toward me. Writing would distract me from thinking of John, and maybe it would kill some time.

After the heading and hoping they were well and the other mindless salutations the Madams had told us were required in letters I finally disclosed about Benjamin.

'_Of course I remembered your demand before I left to tell you about Mister Harold. He is perfectly cordial, and not to mention wildly handsome-I was extremely lucky- but he has one or two habits that annoy me to no end. But when we are married perhaps I can change them…speaking of the wedding, it is to be exactly one year from now, on the fiftieth anniversary of my birth…' _

I pursed my lips at the thought. I would be seventeen and married. What a horrid birthday gift to be married to Mister Harold…

I glanced at the desk clock and felt a little start. It was finally safe to leave for the churchyard. Mother and Father would have retired for bed, and Molly would no doubt be in the library reading her heart out, and the rest of the family would be in their bedrooms as well.

The night was cloudless, and the stars twinkled like little diamonds, pointing out constellations and galaxies. The moon was nearly full, and it spilled enough light over the lawn to see my way.

Hurriedly I finished the letter, sealed it up, and closed my desk. I rooted through my bureau for a pair of gloves and slid them on gingerly, trying not to touch the bruises at all. I locked my door and flipped off the lamp before stepping out the window as quietly as I could.

Tiptoeing over the shingles, I leapt off the roof and ran into the security of the woods, my heart and mind racing. I couldn't think of anything to say to him still, but my pulse was already elevated in anticipation of seeing him, regardless.

And then I remembered his face. The shame and the agony that had ripped it, and I stopped suddenly and leaned against a tree for support. What if he didn't come? I hadn't exactly planned on that. I would have to spend another day pacing and worrying, and what if he didn't show up that night, or the night after…

Oh I just couldn't have my last meeting with him have gone so badly. But who was I kidding? What was I expecting, for him to be jumping up and down with joy hearing that it was over for good? I was stupid, stupid, stupid.

Maybe all I wanted was for him to kiss me like he had last night, so passionate and loving, so I could have something to pretend in exactly one year. But I didn't want to want him to kiss me for that reason. I wanted to not have to worry about a ridiculous family that was up in arms at the mention of him, to not have to worry about hiding bruises recieved from an abusive fiancé, to not have to worry about what to say when I try to explain about said fiancé, and to just have him kiss me because I loved the way his lips felt against mine.

I stumbled forward, and was startled to see John in the churchyard; I was so sure that I wouldn't see him that I almost jumped. He was sitting on the little stone bench, him head in his hands, and I wondered if this was how he had seen me that night two years ago.

Slowly I approached him, but he didn't look up or notice my presence until I sat down next to him. He jerked his head out of his hands, surprised to see me sitting there. He jumped up and backed away from the bench a little, as though afraid of being so close to me.

"Delilah, I, er, want to apologize for how I acted last night…" He said, and I was dimly reminded of my own apology a few hours previously. I felt my cheeks grown hot, but I shook my head.

"Don't…don't apologize for anything…I'm the one that should be sorry…" I whispered, and he realized what I was about to say.

"The engagement notice…" he said softly, and I looked away, staring into the shadows of the forest.

"Yes. There's nothing I can do. I've pleaded with Mother, but she and Father adore him and even after I showed her…" I shut my mouth abruptly, realizing that I had said too much.

John took a step towards me, and I kept my eyes averted, looking anywhere but at him. "I guess it wasn't such an accident." He said, his voice deadly and quiet. It reminded me so much of Benjamin that I had to look up to make sure that it was really John.

His eyes betrayed anger, and for the first time I felt frightened in his presence. I didn't answer, and he reached out a hand, and I flinched. His hand dropped to his side, his sudden anger gone from his eyes, replaced by the kind of pain that I had seen last night.

"He's hurt you again." He said, and I shook my head.

"No…" I lied, but I didn't sound convincing at all.

John sat back down next to me, but I didn't feel frightened any more. He looked suddenly tired, and I leaned my head against his shoulder, hoping that I didn't cry. It seemed that all I did in his presence was do that- cry.

He groped for my hand and squeezed it, accidentally pressing my bruise. I couldn't hide a grunt of pain, and his eyes darted from my wrist to my sheepish face and back to my wrist again.

Very carefully, like my hand was made of glass, he pulled off the glove. I didn't want him to see it, but I didn't try to cover it up. He turned over my hand, palm up, and there it brazenly flashed like a neon sign, screaming to be recognized. It had changed color since I had seen it, and was now an ugly blackish purple that stood out startlingly against my skin color. He kept his head bent over my hand for a long moment, but when he looked up, his eyes were angry again.

"Did he hurt you anywhere else?"

I wanted to lie, to take away that horrible look in his eyes and reassure him that I was perfectly fine, but I unconsciously pressed my gloved hand against my stomach. He closed his eyes, as if he couldn't bear to look at me anymore.

After a moment I reached up and traced his jaw with my ungloved hand. "Don't worry about me…" I murmured. He opened his eyes and lowered my fingers.

"How could I not? You're going away to marry a bastard who hurts you, and I can't do a damned thing about it." He was angry again, and he launched himself off the bench and began pacing. Never had he ever sworn, and I was shocked, and I struggled to find my voice to try and reassure him.

"I…I just have to learn…"

John swiveled to face me, and took my hands like they were glass again. "Delilah, you don't have to learn anything. It's him that's got the problem."

"Yes, but I'm afraid that it would be rather ridiculous to say that to his face, since these were from telling Mother." I began fiercely gesturing to my wrists before continuing in a softer tone "John, please don't worry about me, I'll be able to handle it. I just need to stay away from his bad side, and…"

"Let him run over you?" John finished for me, and I nodded, looking away from him. He kissed the top of my hands, and there was a horrible air of finality about it that made me feel even worse.

"I've tried speaking to Mother, but she's behind him, saying that I'm being ridiculous about the whole affair and that I'm the one who's wrong. She says that women have to deal with these things to make a marriage work, but I just can't see how." I sighed. "Maybe she's right, though…maybe I was being stupid."

"Stupid about what? Why he hit you the first time?" John asked, and I shrugged, wishing that he wouldn't ask questions, just kiss me. "Why did he?"

"Well, he…felt the need to speed our relationship up, and I didn't exactly agree…" I said carefully.

"You mean he took advantage of you?" John cried, his anger returned.

I opened my mouth, but shut it again. I didn't know quite what to say. I settled for trying not to remember how Mister Harold's hands had roved around my body.

"On the very same night I…" He suddenly looked sick, and it was plain that he thought he was no better than Mister Harold.

"I don't mind you…" I blushed, "I had only met him a few minutes before, and he was rather rude, and he…he wasn't you." I finished in a barely audible whisper, but John had heard it.

He pulled me into a hug, and I breathed in the scent of him, trying to memorize it. His lips met the top of my head, and it was that simple action that set me off.

I started to cry, with hard shaking sobs that I couldn't stop or muffle. John held me tighter, stroking my hair and patting my back. He kept silent though, for he knew that murmuring 'it'll be alright' could very well be a lie.

"It isn't fair." I sniffed a few minutes later, wiping my face with a handkerchief, embarrassed at my outburst.

"Try talking to your mother again; maybe she'll realize that it was a mistake." He urged, but I let out a watery laugh.

"I doubt that. Mister Harold is far too wealthy for her to think ill of him." I said scornfully.

"You just have to try…" He said again, and I sighed, refolding the wasted handkerchief.

"You're right…I'll speak with her tomorrow…but I have to get back home, it's late…"

I didn't want to leave, I just wanted to stay with him and never have to go home, never have to face Mother or Father or Molly or Mister Harold again. But I had to. If they found out I was still sneaking out with John, I wouldn't live to see my birthday. Or maybe I would, but I would be forced to share a room with Molly until my wedding.

Before even thinking, I got on my tiptoe and quickly kissed him.

"I'll see you tomorrow night." I grinned, and left him looking a little surprised and pleased.

---------------------------

**So, yeah…it was mostly conversation…but I just love it! I mean, we haven't exactly had a chance to see how they interact, other than…uh….**

**Well. You know. **

**Anyway, I really **_**do**_** like this chapter…probably because, you know…John get's what's going on…**

**Anywho. So I'm going to be re-doing the previous chapters. Nothing major…I just noticed a few mistakes that I would feel better about if I corrected. **

**Any suggestions are welcome, reviews are much appreciated. **


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